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Things were definitely not looking up. Not yet. Because in English lit, every teen girl’s dreams and hopes went to die a terrible and gruesome death. Especially under the judging eyes of Mr. Garret.
I stared down at the bright red D circled on the front of my latest pop quiz on Shakespeare. Happy Friday to me. He’d added a minus sign to it, probably just to give it an extra little kick in the gut. I glared at the bald spot on the back of his large head as he walked past my test. So much for starting this year off right. I’d be lucky to pass this class with a C.
This wasn’t what Dad had had in mind when he’d said I had to keep my grades up. Another quiz like this and I was going to be in huge trouble. No more movie set for me. The closest I’d get to Hollywood was watching Dad’s spaghetti westerns on the TV late at night because I’d been grounded from all other technology. I probably shouldn’t have spent another hour on the phone with Zane last night, but I hadn’t been able to help it. Talking with him was starting to be the best part of my day.
And he was only going to be around for another two weeks.
“People, this is your junior year. You’re not babies anymore. You cannot be phoning it in.” Mr. Garret turned at the front of the room to shoot us a superior smile. Somehow, he’d stuffed his pudgy belly into the ugliest tight brown sweater vest I’d ever seen, along with matching khaki pants held in place by a black belt. He leaned back on his desk and rubbed a hand over his wiry beard as his eyes darted around the room. “I expect junior-level work or better and you left a lot to be desired. I will not baby you, like the other teachers. Elevate your work or expect to be stuck in summer school.”
A silent gasp went through the room. I just knew every single one of us were imagining sitting in this stuffy old classroom all summer long with nothing but Mr. Garret and a white board. Gross. Summer school was not an option for me. I had my eyes on earning enough to buy a new eye shadow pallet from MAC. There was no way I’d get enough money if I was stuc
k in here.
The bell rang and Mr. Garret dismissed us all with a wave of his hand. He rounded the desk and went to sit in his chair. Stuffing the pop quiz angrily in my backpack, I hung back to weigh my options as Charlotte and Beth headed out the door. If he were any other teacher, I’d put on my most charming smile and walk straight up to him asking about extra credit options. But this was Mr. Garret we were talking about. He loved to torture kids—and he hated me most of all. There was no way that plan would work out.
“Hey, Lexi.” Erik Manson, the second-string quarterback for our football team, smiled at me from one aisle over. He wore a gray t-shirt today that hugged the shapely muscles of his throwing arm. With a careless toss of his blond, shaggy head, he shot me another killer smile. “Any plans for this weekend? I heard they’re showing the new thriller at the theater tonight.”
Normally, I would’ve been all over that like avocado on toast, but Erik’s brown eyes and charming grin just weren’t having the same effect they usually did. There was no flicker of excitement in my chest, not even at the idea of feeling up those biceps while in line for the concessions stand. I was pretty sure there was someone to blame for my lack of reaction.
Never mind that he was still totally off limits.
“I’m just working.” I shrugged at Erik and shouldered my backpack. Maybe dating Zane was out of the question, but that didn’t make me eager to jump into plans with any of the other guys at school. I had more important things to do. “They’ve got me working overtime on set. I’ve only got two weeks left.”
“Well, after you’re done with work, we can go,” he said with a look that held a bit of the cockiness that seemed to come prepackaged with all football players. Even Audrey’s boyfriend, Collin, had it in spades, but I still liked him.
“Maybe.” I shrugged noncommittally. “We’ll have to see.”
I didn’t feel bad for leaving him hanging. Erik was the type of guy who could get a date just by snapping his fingers. He didn’t need me. With a nod of his head, he headed out the door to his next class.
Mr. Garret still sat at his desk, bowed over a stack of papers and scribbling fiercely. Suddenly, I wasn’t feeling so brave anymore. Haggling over my grades with the crabbiest teacher in school did not sound like a good time. Everyone else had abandoned ship. I stepped lightly, careful not to make a sound with my Tom Toms. But just as I was about to make my break for it, Mr. Garret looked up suddenly, his disapproving gaze landing squarely on me.
“Miss Black, a word?”
What now? I put on my best beauty queen smile and slid closer to him. No conversation with Mr. Garret had ever ended in my favor. It’d been my policy to avoid them completely. He always had a way of sucker-punching me in the gut when I least expected it. Now, it seemed I was going to have to do some scrambling if I wanted to keep my head high.
“Listen, Mr. G, I know I sunk that quiz.” I chewed on my bottom lip as his unyielding gaze drilled into mine. “I’ll do better next time. I swear. It’s just, I’m not very good at this English stuff. You know, old dead guys and stuff. If you wanted to give a pop quiz on Riverdale or BTS, that I could ace. I swear.”
I could tell I’d gone too far by the haughty look snapping in his eyes. He sat up straighter, spreading his hands on the desk. “Old dead guys? Young lady, William Shakespeare is not just some old guy. He was a genre unto himself. He shaped the way we entertain today. If it wasn’t for him, I doubt we’d have trash like Riverdale on our TV screens.”
I swallowed down my burst of indignation. Riverdale wasn’t trash. It was a dark and mysterious drama that beautifully captured the desperations of teenage life. Mr. Garret would never understand.
So instead of arguing, I nodded and took a baby step toward the door. It seemed safer than standing within range of his scowl. “Yes, you’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll do better next time. It just doesn’t come naturally to me.”
His brow furrowed and he laughed hollowly. “Miss Black, if you put half the effort into your literature studies as you do at painting your face with crap or making eyes at boys across the room, I’d be astonished.”
His words hit me like a jab to the gut. I tucked my chin as the corners of my eyes burned with angry tears. He was completely out of line. And so judgey. I didn’t spend my time making eyes at boys across the room. Not all of it, anyway. And I didn’t paint my face with crap. It was my art. My own personal form of expression. But reading Hamlet was like trying to interpret another language. I didn’t get it and it was mind-numbingly boring. That wasn’t my fault.
“I’m really trying...” I said, gulping down my tears.
“You can’t just expect things to come naturally to you.” He crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat. His lips pursed in a condescending smirk. “You have to work for them. You should feel lucky I’m teaching you this lesson early. Once you get out into the real world, you’ll realize fast you can’t skim along on popularity and charm. You’ll fail, Miss Black, unless you find some real work ethic. Do you even have a plan for what you’re going to do after you graduate? That is—if you graduate...”
I lifted my chin, feeling a swell of rebellion inside of me. He could talk down to me all he wanted, but that didn’t mean I had to let him get to me. “I’m going to the L Makeup Institute in Los Angeles.”
He snorted and looked down at his papers. “Makeup school? Figures.”
Anger unlike I’d ever felt before boiled beneath the surface. This was not a feeling I was used to having. I could let almost any bad thing roll off my shoulders, but Mr. Garret didn’t get to insult my school or my future career. Not when he didn’t have a clue what he was talking about.
“Actually, it’s a highly respected institute,” I said, taking a step toward him. My voice quivered with emotion. “Anyone would be lucky to get in. There are Oscar winners who went to that school.”
